


Glittery Alien

by Vae



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Torchwood
Genre: Community: help_haiti, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-23
Updated: 2010-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:19:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a thing in the cell next to him that he suspects really might be an alien, holy shit, Cardiff's a scary place. And now he's trapped in this cell next to this thing and the girl who'd brought him in hadn't listened to a single word he'd said and kept saying things about research and family connections and Twitter and if he ever gets out alive, he's going to kill Neil really fucking slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glittery Alien

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sistercarrion](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sistercarrion).



> with thanks to Tanisafan for beta - written for sistercarrion for help_haiti, originally posted anonymously at teamcockbert's 101 Places to Fornicate meme.
> 
> The author makes no profit from this derivative work. Torchwood and the characters thereof are the property of the BBC. Adam Lambert is his own property, and no offence is intended by the use of derivative characterisation in this fiction.

"I'm not an alien!" Adam yells one more time before giving in and slumping against the glass of the... cell. He's in a cell. Some weird cell in some weird place and he _knew_ that agreeing to play a show in Wales was going to bite him on the ass somehow. Just not like this.

There's a thing in the cell next to him that he suspects really _might_ be an alien, holy shit, Cardiff's a scary place. And now he's trapped in this cell next to this thing and the girl who'd brought him in hadn't listened to a single word he'd said and kept saying things about research and family connections and Twitter and if he ever gets out alive, he's going to kill Neil really fucking slowly.

He figures he must have somehow fallen asleep, because there's no way he'd have missed anyone coming in, but the next thing he knows there's a guy standing outside the cell. A guy who looks kind of familiar, actually, but the whole uniform thing he's got going on... yeah, Adam might have some uniform kink hidden away somewhere but it never really went historical on him before.

"So you're not an alien, huh?" the guy says conversationally.

Adam presses himself up against the glass, fingers curling through the holes in it as if it could make the glass move or disappear or something. "Really not," he says fervently. "I'm a rock star."

"You say that like they're mutually exclusive." Uniform guy leans back against the wall, watching him. "You've heard of Prince? Michael Jackson? David Bowie? Grace Jones? Lady Gaga?"

"They're not... wait." He's always kind of wondered about Michael Jackson. And as for Bowie... "I've _met_ Lady Gaga. I've _worked_ with her."

"Classified and under strict conditions." The guy nods. "We're still monitoring Prince. The name thing, by the way? Human tongues can't pronounce his real name. He's trying to find an approximation that works. And between you and me, we're not really sure about Sting, either."

Adam drops his head forwards against the glass. It's all horribly plausible and he's never actually seen Gaga eat anything, anyway. "But I'm _not_ an alien. I've got a show tonight at the Millennium Center. My mom's from San Diego." None of which sounds convincing as evidence of humanity, even to him. "I've got _freckles!_"

"Really?" That gets a head tilt and definite interest, and under other circumstances Adam would be a lot happier about that, even if the guy's not really his type. Too tall, too broad, but he's got this charisma thing going on and can Stockholm syndrome kick in this quickly? "Where?"

Okay, right, make-up's covering them up, but humans wear make-up, right? Even men. Especially Adam. "Everywhere," he says, pulling a face. "If I don't dye my hair every couple weeks, I'm a redhead, okay?"

"That narrows the possible species down," the guy says thoughtfully. "Show me."

"Narrows it down to _human_," Adam insists. "Wait, what?"

"The freckles," the guy says. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness, now we're introduced, get 'em off."

"The freckles don't _come_ off." He'd tried, when he was younger. Scrubbing and lemon juice and strawberries and anything else he'd ever heard of that might get rid of them, but they stayed stubbornly in place.

Jack laughs, his eyes hard, and shakes his head. "Not the freckles. The clothes. Show me the freckles."

Fuck. Adam can't believe this. He's been kidnapped by a scary lunatic who thinks he's an alien - _a really sexy scary lunatic_, the Stockholm syndrome part of his mind supplies - and now the lunatic wants him naked. "They're on my arms, look!"

He strips his shirt off, holding it protectively rather than letting it fall to the floor because God knows what's been on there and it looks damp with things he's not thinking about (he hasn't missed the complete lack of bathroom facilities), and presses one arm against the glass.

Jack comes closer, watching Adam's arm. "Impressive," he says, not sounding at all impressed. "And the rest."

Adam gapes. "I am _not_ getting naked in here, these jeans are Versace!" And he's so not ruining them by letting anything drop to the ground.

"Good argument," Jack says, with a nod. There's a hiss, and Adam stumbles back a couple of steps as the glass moves, finally opening. "Come upstairs. Don't even think about your cellphone, there's no reception in here."

Like he couldn't have guessed that, even if he hadn't been holding the latest model in his left hand and that's another reminder to get one of those cases. If he ever gets out of this place alive. "Can't you do a blood test or something to prove I'm human?"

"We're already running one," Jack tells him, and holds out a pair of handcuffs.

Adam sighs, puts his shirt on again, and holds his hands out. "Kinky," he mutters.

"You have _no_ idea." Jack flashes a grin that wakes up the Stockholm syndrome again, cuffs Adam's hands in front of him and then takes his arm to lead him up into something that looks like it dropped out of a James Bond film. Dropped being the right word because it's pretty obviously underground, some huge cave thing with something flying around up near the top that's probably another alien.

Fuck, he's underground with a lunatic and more than one alien and now even he's believing that aliens are real. Even though he's not one. "I'm dreaming, right?" he says faintly. "Or high."

There are more people here. The girl who brought him in, who's got her back to him but still manages to look smug. There's another woman, Asian, pretty, trying to pretend she's not sneaking looks at him, and over in one corner, a man in a white labcoat who looks kind of like one of his parents was a frog. Maybe he's an alien, too.

"Owen!" Jack calls. "How's that blood test?"

Frog man sniffs and looks across at them disdainfully. Maybe he can't look any other way, maybe the frog in him stops him being able to. "I told you, Harkness, it's going to take another ten minutes."

"Other tests it is, then," Jack says cheerfully, and places his hand in the center of Adam's back, between his shoulder blades. "Come on, meeting room."

The meeting room turns out to have glass walls all around it, and while Adam's not exactly shy, he really doesn't like the idea of getting naked where everyone can see. Not when the everyone in question thinks he's an alien. "Um," he says eloquently.

Jack laughs, flips a switch, and the glass goes dark. Adam tries not to think about two way mirrors and holds his hands out. "I can't with these on. I mean, sleeves."

"Do I have your sworn word," Jack asks, looking very serious, "under the Shadow Proclamation section two-seven-nine subsection three-zero, that you will not attempt to end my life, harm me or my staff in any way, or escape custody?"

Adam blinks. "I've never heard of the Shadow Proclamation," he admits. "Are they prog rock?"

"I need your word," Jack insists.

Adam's eyes flick down to the fact that Jack's holster really isn't just for show. He nods. "Man, you've got the gun here. I'm not trying anything."

"Your word," Jack says again.

"Fine." Adam sighs and curls his fingers, twisting his wrists in the cuffs to check the length of the chain. "You have my word. Under Genesis and King Crimson too, if you want."

Jack laughs, short and warm, and unlocks the cuffs. "I'm beginning to think Gwen was wrong about you. Strip."

Whoever Gwen is and whatever she was wrong about, it's beginning to sound promising. Adam flexes his wrists again, thankful for the freedom, and takes off his shirt. And his t-shirt, then bends down for his boots, trying not to actually touch any of the ick on the soles.

"And the jewelry," Jack says.

Right. This is going to take a while longer, then. "I want it all back," he warns, and starts with his rings. Once six rings are sitting on the table, he moves onto the bracelets and cuffs, and then his necklaces, finishing with the McQueen feather pendant he loves so much. "Earrings too?"

"Earrings too," Jack confirms, folding his arms.

Fuck. Those are going to be a bitch to get back in, and he's more sure, now, that he _will_ get the chance to get them back in. He sighs. "This would be easier with a mirror, you know."

But there's no mirror, so he fiddles with each one in turn until he can work them out, wincing slightly as the flesh tunnels come out. Those are the ones he didn't want to lose. "Can't we just wait for the blood test results?"

"No," Jack says firmly. He leans back against the glass and nods for Adam to continue.

There's a big difference between half naked and all naked, for Adam, and taking his jewelry off doesn't affect it. Much. He's still got his make-up on, after all. Still, he can feel something shift as he pulls his socks off and moves his hands to his belt buckle, something in his Stockholm syndrome, something about the fact that a supremely assured and supremely hot guy is watching intently as he takes his clothes off. It changes the dynamic enough that by the time he's wriggled out of the aforementioned Versace jeans, his dick's taking a distinct interest in the proceedings.

He takes a deep breath, lifts his head, and meets Jack's eyes. The air of mild amusement seems to have faded, and Jack's looking him over, apparently paying very close attention.

"See?" he says. "All human."

Jack nods once, and pushes away from the wall, hands falling to his sides. "Move away from the table, arms at your sides, turn around."

Adam rolls his eyes, but does it, cock bobbing slightly with the movement. "You want me to dance next?"

"No," Jack says from behind him. "Not yet."

Jack with the gun, Adam reminds himself, completes the turn, and stands still. "So?"

"Jack!" The door pushes open and frog man's head appears through it, looking with interest at Adam, then apparently less interest at Jack. "Big surprise, Gwen's fucked up again. He's human. Completely. Not even a hint of whatever glittery thing Gwen thought he might have."

Adam silently adds torture to his killing plans for Neil.

"I got that, thanks, Owen." Jack moves, and Adam realizes to his surprise that Jack's actually shielding him from Owen's view with his body. "The freckle patterns are wrong for a Trill, there are no blocking devices, nothing holding his appearance. He's _all_ man."

"So I can get dressed now, right?" He's already reaching for his jeans when Jack's hand closes around his wrist, stopping him.

"Not yet," Jack says evenly. "Owen, we'll be needing refreshments in about ten minutes."

It's probably not going to take him quite ten minutes to get dressed, but possibly with the jewelry...

Owen looks at Adam again, sighs loudly, and goes, letting the door bang closed behind him. Jack turns to Adam, still holding his wrist, and flashes _that_ grin again. "Sorry about that, but you have to understand we can't take any chances."

"Just prisoners," Adam finishes. "Fine, but now you know for sure that I'm not an alien..."

"... I wanna make it up to you." The grin gets impossibly brighter, and Adam wonders for a moment if Jack's an alien, too. "C'mon, let me make it up to you."

Adam's brows climb so high he could swear he can feel them meeting his hairline. "You wanna buy me a drink?"

Jack shakes his head. "I wanna give you an orgasm," he says, grin growing more wicked and more promising. "Then I wanna give you a drink."

It takes all of about three seconds consideration to decide, because nothing actually feels real any more. "Okay," Adam says.

Jack just grins, goes to his knees, and sucks Adam's cock into his mouth. Adam's barely got time to yelp in surprise and grab for Jack's shoulders for support before his knees try to give way. No one's _ever_ done that without working at it, without even flinching a bit, because he knows he's not small. Even when he's not completely hard, he's not small, and the lush wet heat of Jack's mouth has him completely hard in milliseconds.

"Fuck," he says breathlessly, and digs his fingers into Jack's shoulders, pleased to find that under the vintage shirt are distinctly more modern muscles, firm enough to hold onto. He's not going to grab Jack's head, really, no matter how tempting it is, because he's not a total asshole and you just don't do a thing like that without checking first.

Jack's hands are on his ass, and Jack's lips are pretty nearly at the base of his cock already, and Jack's tongue is _everywhere_. Maybe Jack really is an alien, some kind of incubus sex alien with multiple tongues that can cradle his shaft and lick across his head and tease around his crown all at the same time, driving him completely out of his mind even before, holy shit, there's one moment of complete stillness and then Jack's _swallowing_ around him and Adam can feel his cock slip across Jack's tongue and down his throat. It's tighter and hotter, slick and amazing, and he shudders, giddy, dizzy with it, his heart pounding hard enough that the thunder of it in his ears drowns out any other sound. Including the harsh, rough groan he gives as his back arches, tension and pleasure lash sharply through him, and he comes in a shivering rush of heat and release that's kind of embarrassingly quick, or would be embarrassing if he still had any kind of belief that any of this is actually real.

"Holy shit," he whispers, hoarse and disbelieving, and stares down at the sight of Jack's lips sliding back off his cock, and Jack grinning up at him smugly.

"All part of the service," Jack says cheerfully. "Great cock, by the way. You want that drink now?"

Adam wobbles and drops into the nearest chair, still breathless, gesturing towards Jack's pants. "You want I should...?"

Jack shakes his head and hands Adam his t-shirt. "Someone else'll take care of that. So, drink?"

He nods and puts his t-shirt on automatically. Getting back into his jeans is more work, mostly because his legs aren't quite working again yet.

By the time he's finished dressing, Jack's got a tray of drinks on the table. Adam slides the last ring into place and looks mournfully at his earrings. "I'm never gonna get these in without a mirror."

"Let me," Jack suggests. "Just tell me which goes where, and have a drink."

"Tea?" Adam asks, and grins when Jack hands him a full mug. "You know, I think that's the first time I've had a blow job from a guy I haven't even kissed."

Jack laughs and picks up one of the earrings. "You don't go to the same clubs I do, then. Left or right?"

"Left." Adam takes a drink of tea, then another, thirsty from orgasm and the time in the cells. "If I went to the same clubs you do, honey, I'd have noticed you, but I've never been to Cardiff before."

"I don't just go to Cardiff," Jack says absently, fixing the earring in place with surprising skill.

Adam holds still until the earring's secure, then hands Jack the next one. "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to forget my introduction to Cardiff," he says dryly.

Jack makes a non-committal sound, and keeps going until all of Adam's earrings are back in, including the flesh tunnels that don't seem to hurt as much as he expected. He's nearly finished his tea, as well, and he's beginning to feel sleepy. "So I'm clear to go now? All non-alien and everything?"

"You're clear to go," Jack agrees, and takes the mug from him to put it down again. "Though it's a good thing you never met Ianto."

"What's a Ianto?" Adam asks, confused, and Jack laughs.

"Never mind. Come on, let's get you back to your show. Tosh has tickets."

Adam doesn't know what a Tosh is, either, but he figures it doesn't matter that much. Jack gets him out through a tunnel that makes him think even more of James Bond, and into a black SUV that's, yeah, James Bond again. "Are you guys secret service?" he asks drowsily.

He's asleep before he knows whether Jack answers.


End file.
